Because He Said
by Rose Pattinson-Cullen
Summary: After her parents die in a crash, an orphaned Bella is adopted by the Cullens. Esme & Carlisle teach her many important lessons in life, but she never gets the love concept. When a photographer bursts into her life, she learns more than she ever wanted.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Full Summary:**** After being adopted by Esme and Carlisle, the orphaned Bella discovers many new concepts through their influence, like generosity and kindness, but never fully grasped the whole 'love' thing. Now, as an award-winning photographer forces himself into her life, she truly learns what it is to love, and most importantly, that she is who she is, and to change for no one.**

**Hope you guys like! Please review! Also, just to be clear, the entire thing is BPOV.**

**Song of the Chapter: When You Were Young – The Killers**

**Disclaimer: I wish, so, so much. *Sigh***

_He'd said that he'd been looking for a subject forever now._

_He'd said that I was the one, and told me I was perfect in every way._

_And I, the hopeless romantic, had believed him._

**_Day 1:_**

The day ticked past slowly, as I tied to put off the daunting event looming in just a few short hours: another 'high social gathering' Esme had put me up to.

Ever since the 'accident', I had been under her care and sponsorship, so I had to agree to accompany her to these things when Carlisle couldn't. Which was more often than not. But, I don't have a choice. I'm obligated.

I looked gloomily around the office, wondering if I could find something that wouldn't let me off until half past two in the morning, when my mobile vibrated in front of me, the name _Esme_ flashing on the screen.

'Esme.'

'Are you almost home? We've got three hours till we leave, Isabella.' She said it in a nice way, but I knew she was stressing. Probably dreading having to attempt at taming my unruly, wild hair.

'Yeah,' I sighed. 'Just packing up for the day.' I slammed shut my large, bursting folder, full of my research.

'Good, good. How long will you be?'

'Twenty, kay?'

'Sure. Great. See you soon, Isabella.'

The line went dead, and I snapped my phone shut. I stood, shoving the crowded folder into my bag, along with my purse, phone and keys. I shut down the computer, then knelt down to the floor to gather up the scraps of paper I'd dropped during the day, and chucked them in the small wastepaper basket next to my desk.

As I moved back into a standing position, by knee gave way yet again, and I stumbled, gripping my desk to avoid landing face-first on the carpet.

I straightened up, tugging my clothes back into place, and promptly walked out of the noisy, overcrowded office building, trying to ignore the voice, eating up my insides, telling me I was a horrible person, and that I was selfish, disregarding the reason my knee had faltered, not wanting to remember that fateful night.

~X~

_It was a dark, stormy night, and I feared for my parents, stuck out in the cold. I also wondered if Elizabeth was inside at her friends': it would be so terribly like her to be out playing under the thundery, wet, angry sky._

_But I knew I would be safe at Grandma's, watching old favourites like Mary Poppins and Babe that I had almost grown out of._

_I looked out the big bay window of Gran's lounge, watching the sky cackle into brightness with every bolt of lightening, and saw the beautiful petals of the blossom tree get pummeled into the muddy, soaking ground, the brown seeping into the white like blood would from a wound._

_And Gran chose that moment, that very thought, to disclose to me the most life-changing information that could ever rock an eight-year-old's life: her family - her loving, tender mother; her gentle, caring father; her irrational, annoying younger sister - were gone. Just like that. One false move, one sideways glance was apparently a just reason for death. _

_My Gran was distraught, and so she immediately shoved me into her old brown Kingswood, gunning the engine with my door still hanging open; speeding down the road while I was trying to buckle myself in._

_When we arrived at the crash site, it was pure chaos. There were police officers, firemen and women, and paramedics. Even the SES was there, waiting to clear several blown over trees. Gran poured through the crowd, not caring whether I followed or not, to her daughter, her baby girl, who was slumped in the passenger seat, covered in blood. My mother. And Dad was there, in the driver's seat, his body limp and lifeless over the steering wheel. And my sister, fragile and incredibly breakable, completely and utterly gone. Gran had already run through the barriers, cradling her daughter in her arms while she screamed at the paramedics to get away from them._

_I ran, too, through the police tape, to my father. I saw he was breathing slightly. As I called out to him, he moved his face slightly to the side, allowing me to see his mouth. I stared at him, the barrier of the mangled and twisted car door between us, in horror, and as I leant through the window, not caring about the jagged bits of metal making gashes in my stomach, he opened his mouth. He tried, again and again it seemed like, though it must have only been two or three times, to tell me something. And each time, nothing more than a whispered chocking sound came out. Lastly, as he opened his mouth for the final time, a small gurgling sound erupted, followed by blood pouring out of his mouth and his eyes rolling back to whites._

_I broke down: turned pale, unhealthily bony and unresponsive. I only noticed the large things, like how kind people with blankets and reassuring voices dragged me away from the warped car, and to a building where people tried to get me to speak. How I was taken into a large courtroom, and adults discussed my future, and Gran telling me she wasn't able to take me in._

_And, of course, my first day with the Cullens._

_They had taken me, the orphaned, penniless girl like one of their own. They'd given me everything: a home, an education, parents, an older brother, a family, and a heart. They poured themselves out to me, and I did what I could to repay them, knowing I never could. And I hated myself for that reason. And then, there was the issue of money…_

~X~

As soon, as I walked in, I was whisked upstairs by Esme, told to put on a strapless black bra, and to get the shoebox and white garment bag from the study. I groaned as soon as I realized she had spent more money on a ridiculous, expensive gown for me that I'd only wear once. 'Esme, really, can't I wear the same as last time?'

'No,' she said, in a trilling, chirpy voice, that I was just able to see through. 'I've already sold it to Marcus's girl, that Jane. Said she needed it for a wedding…' She trailed, turning a corner, then stuck out her head and gave me a meaningful look until I proceeded up the stairs.

As I unzipped the bag, I found a garment equally as gorgeous as the last couple: it was strapless, royal blue, had a silk rose pinned to the side of the waist, and tasteful frills cascading down from it. I t was gorgeous, and I hugged it to my chest and twirled like a princess, completely spoiled and loving it.

After a few minutes, I put down the dress on the polished mahogany desk, and grabbed the shoebox from its perch on the chair. Inside, I found a gorgeous pair of heels I'd probably kill myself in. They were very thin and delicate, and, matched the dress in both colour and exquisiteness. The slender straps were graced with translucent sequins, giving them a subtle shine.

I ran down the hall into my room, grabbing out a strapless and shoving it on, then stripped off my jeans, wrapped myself in my dressing gown, and retrieved the dress, bringing it to Esme's bathroom, where she was already completely dolled up and ready, waiting for me.

'It's so-so-_so_ gorgeous, Es. I love it. You're a genius. It's amazing,' I gushed.

'I thought you'd like it,' she said, satisfied. 'Sit down, and look up.' And I did, as she applied mascara and eyeliner, then dark eye shadow and a deep-coloured lipstick. She put some blush on, then stepped back, nodded, and went behind me to fix my hair. I smelled the curling tongs, and then the hairspray, and soon enough, I was ready.

Esme and I both got into our gowns, and five minutes later, were on our way, in a cab, to the gala she somehow talked me into attending. Don't get me wrong – I love dressing up, it's just the atmosphere that really annoys me at these things. The prejudiced air of everyone makes me feel as if I don't belong, and that I should be at home, in that deteriorating flat, in a hoodie and trackies, reading some gossip magazine and chewing gum loudly, and making remorseful comments at Elizabeth over her very first boyfriend with the cowlick.

But, no. I was here, trying not to embarrass myself with my unconfident manner or clumsy equilibrium. I tried desperately not to draw attention to myself. As per usual however, this usually just makes me a ton more conspicuous.

As we walked in to a large ballroom that looked as if it belonged in a Hilton, I saw a tastefully festive array of flowers and banners, congratulating a man I didn't know the name of for this award winning series of photographs. I sighed, wondering just how much money had been put into this, just so the man would feel special.

I chatted with a few people, the ones who, too, seemed a little out of place here. There was a young girl, whose cousin was the guy everyone was here to praise. She had raven hair and a sharp mind, who was constantly commenting to me about people's gowns and hair arrangements, often making me laugh. We stuck next to each other for the best part of an hour, not really, talking, but observing, occasionally whispering something to the other.

I scarcely saw Esme throughout the night; sometimes she would pop over to tell me who she's just met, or that the sushi was excellent. So, the girl – Alice – and I stood next to each other against a wall, watching the many people dance and converse as if they didn't have a care in the world.

Eventually, two men climbed onto the large stage at the front of the hall, where the band had been playing, They looked quite alike, one quite younger than the other, and I realized they must be father and son. To confirm this train of though, Alice, still next to me, whispered, 'That's him. Edward, the photographer, and my uncle, Anthony.' She stopped a waiter as he passed, taking a flute of champagne off his tray, and I wondered if she were even old enough to drink.

'Are you sure you're abl-' I began, but couldn't finish.

'Yeah. I'm eighteen, just really short,' she told me, amused, knowing what I was going to ask.

'Right,' murmured back, smiling, as the older man on the stage began speaking.

'Well, we all know why we're here,' he told us matter-of-factly. No, we didn't. At least not me. 'My amazing son, Edward, here, has done us all proud. He's gone and won the national gallery's most prestigious young photographer prize. And I thought I'd done well, with the deal last time, but he's constantly outshining me.' A murmur of quiet laughter shuffled through the large room, as people obviously remembered the deal he had made that I obviously didn't remember.

'So, I'll let my son say a few words, then. Edward, my boy.' He motioned towards the microphone, and Edward stepped in front of it, cleared his throat, and began.

'So, I guess this is an honor,' he said nervously. 'I didn't expect it. I'm so very excited and proud. I can't believe it.' That seemed to be the extent of his speech, as he stepped back from the microphone, off the stage, and shook a few peoples' hands, before the party returned to its normal state.

'Insightful,' I muttered.

'Edward's… like that. A man of few words,' Alice informed me.

'Hhhmmmm,' I hummed, as I looked at the handsome boy not much older than I, and wondered why on earth there had to be such things as social barriers; why someone like him could never be with someone like me, simply because it just doesn't happen like that. I continued to stare at him, musing over life's unfair boundaries, when he caught my eye, curiosity clouding his vision. I looked down, embarrassed, but when I looked up, he was still staring, and then, just like that, he was making his way through the crowd, as if I stood out like a red rose in a group of weeds.

I looked at his messy, unkempt hair, his slightly askew tie, and his shining green eyes, and wondered what it was that made his feet take the path that would lead him nowhere but inevitably me.

**Like, hate, disgusted??? Please review, and I'll send you an extended summary or something. **

**Bella's outfit will be on my profile, so check it out, along with my other story, 12 Down Under. You know you want to… **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! So sorry about how loooong this chapter took – I've just bee SO incredibly busy with exams and other school stuff…. But now, It's the summer hols, and I'll be able to update a lot more regularly. Enjoy it, Rose…**

**Disclaimer: I wish, so, so much! *Sigh***

**Song 0f The Chapter: Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley or Leonard Cohen. You choose.**

_He'd told me he would always be there. _

_He'd told me I could rely on him, no matter what._

_Even when the world came crashing down._

I couldn't bear the thought of standing next to a man who held such profound beauty. Surely, he would walk straight past me, or ask me if I'd seen a Lady d'Pomperville, or, worst of all, engage me in a conversation – get my hopes up high then, just, disappear.

Just like almost everything of importance in my life.

Only then did I notice that little Alice was still beside me. Not wanting to be caught staring, I turned to her, and asked her where she lived.

'Just west of Main street – on the far end of Pittsburg road if you're coming from the train station.'

'Excuse me?' A voice I'd heard only moments ago, however then amplified, cut through our exchange, just as I had been about to confirm that I knew the area.

Alice and I both turned to Edward, a man whose full name I didn't even know, and he was already captivating me. 'What is it, Edward?' Alice asked him, rudely.

'Ah, Alice. I hoped you'd be here. Enjoying yourself?' Alice seemed very frustrated with this, possibly because it was the longest or most considerate thing he'd ever said to her. She turned around, and seeing someone she knew, made to greet them. Only then did I notice what she was wearing – a 50s black strapless dress, to the knee with a red satin sash. It seemed to have a tulle skirt, which gave her petit frame a bit of volume.

A melodic sentence interrupted my train of thought. 'Hello. I'm Edward.'

'I know,' I blurted unthinkingly. He smiled at this.

'And you are?'

'Isabella, Swan. I'm here with Esme Cullen. I think she knows your uncle.'

'Ah. And how about you?' he asked, and I had no idea what he was referencing to. 'The party,' he added.

'Oh, yes. It's lovely. Much fun.'

'Glad you think so,' he told me, his voice lowered. 'I can't believe I'm here. It's a ridiculous waste of time and money, if you ask me. I'd rather be upstairs, reading.'

I totally agreed, but figured it would not be the most polite thing to say, so I kept my mouth shut, simply smiling.

He looked at me, taking me in, raking his eyes over for seemingly forever. But, I noticed, his eyes seemed to be looking at things like my hips, measuring, somehow…

He snapped up his gaze, his look apologetic. 'Sorry,' he muttered under his breath, not entirely meaning for me to hear. I decided to create a fresh topic.

'So what do you do?'

'I'm a photographer,' he answered. He didn't need to add the 'Duh.' Nice, Isabella. Smooth. 'You?' he returned.

'I'm a writer. For a really small magazine company.'

'That'd be fun. You must have an interesting job.' I just nodded in agreement – he didn't need to know the magazine I worked on wasthe slightly demeaning Better Homes.

We stood in an awkward silence, taking in the things around us. I saw Alice, fifteen metres or so away, noisily and flirtatiously chatting to a tall, blond man, who was grinning at her, regardless of the obvious attraction she had for him. He looked swept away in her bubbly, giggling presence.

I had been just about to say something about her, when Edward broke the silence.

'Look, do you want to go outside?'

Yeah,' I replied, smiling.

Outside, the air was warm – the result of a hot summers' afternoon, even though it was past midnight. We stood against the railing of the stone balcony, chatting quietly - small talk mostly.

Every few minutes, one of us would shift our feet, so within half an hour, we were easily within touching distance. I was immediately tense, and the smell radiating off him wasn't helping.

The conversation deepened, and I found myself laughing and thinking about everything he had to say. He told me about himself, and I told him what I could without going to deep. He was so easy to talk to, and now he had gained my trust, he seemed to be pouring words into me. I

Esme exited the large hall onto the balcony, after about forty minutes out there, looking for me.

'Ah, there you are Bella. We're about to head off, so say your goodbyes, okay?' With that, she turned back into the room, and immediately started saying parting words to the people she knew, some of which I recognized vaguely from various dinner parties and functions.

I turned back to Edward, who was looking out into the large grounds of the mansion I assumed was his family's. He was smiling, his eyes still calculating, as if he was figuring out some transparent, impossible equation .

'Um, well, goodbye, I guess.' He didn't seem to be about to reply, so I turned, disappointed, as a hand caught my arm.

'Goodbye,' he said, looking straight back into my eyes. He had a pen in his other hand, which he handed to me, and scrunched up his suit and shirt sleeves.

I stifled a giggle, remembering doing things like this in High School, as I wrote my mobile number on his arm. The only difference was the type of guys I'd been giving the string of numbers to. Edward was much more gentlemanly.

I walked away, feeling his eyes burning into my back, and just as I was about to walk indoors, he said, 'I'll call you, Isabella. Bella.'

As the tears welled in my eyes, I couldn't trust myself to turn around and face him, or even use my voice, so I nodded, and muffled a weak 'Mm-hm,' before fleeing inside to say goodbye to Alice.

I couldn't believe it. The beautiful boy, who I'd known no more than three quarters of an hour, already had tapped into me enough to call me the name no one had since the 'accident'. Edward - gorgeous, stunning Edward - had called me Bella.

And he didn't even know. As I made my way around the room after parting with his excited cousin, looking for Esme, I wondered why this had such a massive effect on me. And then I realized: Everyone who called me that had disappeared: Mum, Dad, Elizabeth, Gran, even the friendly postman who'd fixed my bike wheel and bandaged my bloody leg in an accident I had on the footpath outside our small house from over a decade ago.

And so, I awaited his call, hoping desperately that the nickname was merely trivial. But, still, I couldn't let myself do it. I couldn't get attached to him. It would make everything so much harder. But then I saw him waving as we left the mansion, from the balcony, and my heart fluttered, and for the first in a long time, I felt utterly scared. Not of the nickname, but of what he'd do with it.

* * *

_**Day 2:**_

The next morning – a Saturday, thankfully – I woke up lazily. The dulled light flooding into my room told me it was well past the usual time I got up. I rolled onto my stomach and checked the cheap digital clock on my bed side table; the time read 9:38. I sighed, realizing that I had to get up to help Esme in the garden before the afternoon sun shone its' hardest.

I quickly showered, and then changed into some denim shorts and a singlet which read "HUGS NOT DRUGS." I thought it was cute. I pulled my hair up messily, knowing it would only fall out between now and lunchtime, grabbed a hat and slathered myself in moisturizing sunscreen.

Downstairs, Carlisle was sitting at the dark polished oak dining table, sipping not his usual black coffee but orange juice out of an icy glass. 'Morning, Izzy,' he said, using the harmless nickname he and Esme had fashioned for me.

'Hey. Nice morning,' I commented.

'Yeah. Going to get hot, but. You've got some gardening to do, I see?' he asked, eyeing my outfit and oily skin.

'Mm-hm. Fun,' I told him, smiling, while getting some of the juice from the fridge out.

As I poured, he asked, 'So, how was the gathering?'

'Mm. Usual,' I grumbled to him, as he smirked. 'Oh, well. Esme seemed to enjoy herself. You should think about going to one sometime. She'd love it if you went with her.'

'Yeah, but then she wouldn't have an excuse to buy you a dress. And shoes.' I rolled my eyes at while chugging down the liquid, then put the glass in the sink and headed outside. 'Why do you go, anyway? You could say no,' he called down the hall to me.

'I owe it to her. And you,' I told him, not sure how he would react. He hated any talk of 'owing' or 'obligation' when it came to my relationship with the couple.

I heard Carlisle emit a big sigh before I swung the front door shut behind me.

Esme was already out there, sorting the bougainvillea from the jasmine and tulips that the nursery truck had delivered earlier this morning and putting them in the shade of a large oak.

'Hi. What can I do to help?'

'Morning, Izzy. Well, all of these have got to go in today, otherwise they'll die in the heat, so you can start digging holes along that bed.' She pointed to the garden bed bordering the front veranda. 'And I will start digging over there' – she pointed to the side of the massive stone house – 'which is where the jasmine is going, so it can crawl up the side. Tell me when you've done ten or so. The holes should be about fifteen to twenty centimetres deep, and ten wide.'

With that, she handed me a spade and went to work on her side of the house. I dug and dug, but still with five holes incomplete, I felt like collapsing in the ridiculous, torturous heat. When I had finally finished, I crossed the lawn to see Esme, who had about half of the jasmine in the holes she had demoralizing dug in half the time I had.

After hours in the garden, planting and digging, I returned upstairs to my room, about to take a shower when a heard my mobile beep.

Apparently, I had 1 missed call. I pressed the dial button, hoping that it was-

'Edward Cullen speaking. How are you, Bella?'

'Fine,' I said breathily. 'And you?'

'Better now.' I grinned.

'That's good.'

He laughed. 'Yes. Um, I was wondering whether you're busy tonight?'

'No, I'm free. Why?'

'Would you like to go out with me?'

I felt unsteady. 'Yeah, I would,' I answered after a second.

'Great. What time suits you?'

'Ah…' I looked at the clock – it was 4.30 now, and it would take me at least three hours to clean myself up from the sweaty, mucky state I was in at the moment. 'How's seven thirty?'

'Perfect.'

'Where will I meet you?'

'Don't be silly, Bella. I'll pick you up.'

'That's really not neccess-'

'I insist.'

'Okay. Seven thirty.'

'Great. And Bella? Don't wear heels. Okay?'

'Sure. I'm fine with that.'

'Great. I'll see you. Seven thirty.'

'Yeah. I look forward to it.'

'Bye, Bella.'

'Bye.' He disconnected.

I hung up, then froze. I hadn't been on a date since Year 10. I had nothing to wear, and it wasn't as if I was going to wear one of my – Esme's, really – ball gowns.

I jogged down the hall, hollering, 'Esme!'

I found her and Carlisle in the kitchen, Carlisle chopping tomatoes.

'Yes, Bella?' I remembered her saying this in the same tone to me when I was an excited and bubbly ten-year-old.

'I, erm, need a dress…'

'What kind, honey?'

'A…neat-casual dinner dress?'

'Do you have something on tonight?'

'Ah, yes.' She looked like she wanted more. 'A…date.' I managed.

'Oh! Of course! Well, It's half past, so we'll have just enough time if it's for dinner. Come on, hop in the car!'

So, Esme and I drove to a small boutique off the main road, called Dungeona Dressed. I'm not sure I liked the name, but inside was filled with an array of expensive albeit gorgeous, trinkets, skirts, blouses, shoes, and dresses.

Esme sent me straight into the change room, with an array of dresses, the occasional pair of shoes to try on with it.

A couple of them I liked: one with a creamy gold satin bust, with silky roses along the neckline that came from the waist down was a tight black skirt; and one that was black too and a little more swishy, but with a silver band around the waistline.

But the fifteenth dress I tried on was my favourite. Sleeveless, with thick black straps attached to the V-line neck; an extremely loose skirt that splayed out around me like a cloud. A thin black belt around the waist defined my inexistent curves, and the airy quality of the entire thing gave the illusion of wind around my thighs.

Along with a pair of small, strappy black sandals, Esme and I left for home, not before she paid a bill of $450.76. What a ridiculous amount of money spent on one night.

When I told Esme this, she brushed it away as she would a fly, leaving me demoralized and guilty.

This changed, a little, though, when I was standing in my mirror at home, freshly showered, painted and brushed, wearing my dress and shoes. 'You look fab, Izzy,' Esme assured me.

And I did. Or at least, I hoped.

He arrived one minute early, knocking on the front door, introducing himself and charmingly chatting to Carlisle.

I stood in my room, staring out the window at him, when Esme disturbed me. 'Izzy? He's here,' she called softly through the heavy oak door.

'Kay,' I called back.

I grabbed my tweed coat, as it looked to be a chilly night, and headed down the stairs, to find Edward by himself.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hey.'

'Your dad just went to find you,' he told me. I flinched at the word 'dad', reminding myself that he didn't know any better.

'Ah, Isabella. There you are.' Carlisle had just returned into the entrance hall.

'Yeah. I'll, er, see you later.' I waved shortly at Carlisle, then at Esme, who was seated on a stair, before turning to Edward, and leading the way out.

He opened my door in a gentlemanly fashion, before jogging swiftly to the driver's side of the luxury black sleek car.

'So, where are we going?' I asked, politely as possible, trying not to sound snoopy.

'It's a surprise,' he informed me.

'I hate surprises,' I grumbled unceremoniously.

'You'll like this one. Trust me.'

I smiled a little, just because his goof mood was infectious. He turned on the radio, and I recognized a favourite of mine. He began singing along, and after much deliberation, I did too, an octave above, until the song ended.

He grinned at me. 'You're good.'

He thought I was good at _singing_? 'You're better,' I amended.

It was a childish thing to say, but we sat, talking about old music, listening to songs I vaguely knew until we reached the destination.

'The destination' turned out to be the lookout, situated on a hill just out of town in the fields that farmers held their horses. By now, the sun was around an hour from setting, and we made our way up to the deserted lookout hill, Edward loaded with a picnic basket and plaid rug, both of us occasionally slipping on a loose stone. I now understood what he meant about not wearing heels.

He set the blanket down on a patch of grass that was unaffected by the hot summer sun due to a tall oak towering up next to it. When we were both seated on the rug, he unloaded the contents of the basket and spread them between us: a bottle of red wine and two glasses, containers of olives, feta cheese and sun-dried tomatoes, biscuits and garlic-smelling dip. And, chocolate.

'Wow. You really… shouldn't have.'

'It's a pleasure,' he said, spreading the green dip onto a cracker before biting into it.

That night, we talked well past 12 o'clock, eating and taking lots and lots of sips of the heavy, fragrant wine provided.

Whatever boundaries each of us had set last night were thrown completely out the window.

I told him about my parents, and the day of the accident, and my Gran and Esme and Carlisle and how I did what I could for them, but could never pay them back, and how they considered me part of their family and I wasn't sure if I could ever make that feeling mutual.

He told me about his life: feelings of uncertainty and pressure and not being good enough. Always being told he should, could, and would do better.

'I've never been good enough. Ever. It was always "Edward, you need to put more effort into this! It's just not good enough! You stupid, insolent child!"'

'Hey, he was wrong.'

'What?'

'Of course you're good enough. You're better than good enough: you're great.'

'No, I'm not.' He said it matter-of-factly, gazing up at the stars, before he turned to me. 'But that's okay. I' alright with that.'

'Don't be silly,' I scolded him, searching his face for signs of him believing me. 'You are more than good enough, okay?'

'It's not as if you can prove that, Bella,' he said in a remorseful tone, thick with an unspoken humor.

But I could, and to this day I'm still uncertain whether is was the multiple glasses of wine, or the spirit of the moment, or maybe even the delicious dark chocolate, that made me pull his face down to mine.

'You're good enough for me. and don't ever forget it,' I said, before crashing my lips onto his.

**Hope you liked it! Next chapter might take a while as I have two other stories to update first. Hope you stick with it though, and please, please please review!!!**

**Rose xxx**

**Also: The three dresses B tried on are linked on my profile -- check em out!**


	3. Chapter the Last

To my dearest, loyal fans,

Firstly, I must apologise. I haven't been writing, or updating or just generally proactiving for a long while. Something big happened to me, and my family was greatly impacted for a while.. The loss of someone is never easy, but it is made worse when it effects so many people - no matter how small an influence it is. After everything I've been through, I can't muster the spirit to continue with these lighthearted stories. My thoughts are too heavy at the moment, and whenever I try to write a chapter, something very terrible happens to the nicest of people. The happy world of FanFiction is not something I can deal with currently.

However, I did put so much work into these stories, and would hate for them to be lost, and worse, unfinished, forever... so PLEASE, if you are interested, take it off my hands. I am more than willing to hand my work over to a good home, and do not need any credit for the chapters already written. Please consider this!

And so, for the final time, drop me a review! I'd love to go out with a bang. Any perspective takers, message me or something, I'd really love to hear from you. Enfin, un grand merci to the faithful, kind reviewers who, for the last two or so years, have so brightened my life and encouraged my writing with incredible words that i so cherish.

A final goodbye, Rose. XXX


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